


Maid For Him

by starfishdancer



Series: Role With It; or, the Erotic Role-Play Adventures of Darcy and Steve [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Role Playing, ShieldShock - Freeform, Smut just smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 07:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishdancer/pseuds/starfishdancer
Summary: Darcy and Steve like to role-play, and what better people to play than a rich CEO and his careless maid?





	Maid For Him

**Author's Note:**

> I got a few smutty, smutty lack-of-plot bunnies and decided to indulge. I've got no idea how many there will end up being (at least four, I think, at least in terms of what bunnies are still hopping around) so I'm making it a "series" and starting with this one that wouldn't leave me alone the most.
> 
> You don't have to read, but I like to think this is the same universe as a previous drabble I wrote for Marvelous Birthdays, which can be found here:  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813423/chapters/40452494

Steve tugs at the collar of his suit jacket, checking the expensive watch he’d borrowed from Tony – without telling him the true reason for it – to make sure he isn’t too early. Darcy had been very clear how much time she’d needed to set things up. His girl has a thing for the details, and he isn’t about to complain. Not when the payoff is always, always more than worth it.

He gives it another five minutes, just to be safe. And not because he knows what the anticipation from the extra wait time would do to his girl. That’s just a bonus.

Straightening the collar of his tie, he leans down and picks up the briefcase next to the door, then queues the AI to let him into his apartment. He strides into the room, and is not disappointed with the erotic vision in front of him: Darcy, dressed in a maid’s uniform, brushing non-existent dust from one of his shelves. 

Her hair is curled and loose, a tiny black cap lined with perched on top. She’s opted for makeup that makes her eyes look wider, her mouth a perfect red moue. The black dress has a scoop neck and the material hugs her curves, her waist looking even tinier with the white apron tied around it. The heels, totally impractical if she were a real housecleaner, set off her legs nicely.

“Bon-jour, monsieur!” she says, and it takes a lot of self-control not to grin at her terrible accent. If he breaks character, she’s going to pout, and as attractive as she is no matter what facial expression she’s wearing, he’ll hold out for the more fun ones he knows he’s going to get to see.

“Carry on, Mimi,” he says in his firm Captain voice, since he figures that will do for a millionaire CEO of whatever imaginary company he’s supposed to run. It must to the trick, because he sees her press her legs together slightly even as she does, as it were, carry on.

She bends over enticingly, and he takes a moment to appreciate the way the short skirt rides up, revealing a peep of lace and a sliver of skin at the top of the white thigh high stockings she’s paired with the outfit. His girl does know just what the stockings do to him. Just like she likes what he does to her when the stockings do to him. She straightens up, the flounces over to the coffee table to continue ‘dusting, a lovely sway to her hips. She knocks against the table, and the little white vase with a single red rose on it wobbles. He refrains from grinning again when she glares at it when it stays upright, but Darcy doesn’t let it get the best of her. Instead, she waves the feather duster around until she “accidentally” sweeps the vase of the table. It lands on the tile and shatters.

“Ooh la la, zut alors!” she says, her mouth turning down into a pretty pout. “Mimi ees zo clum-zee!”  
She starts to bend down to pick up the shards, but he’s behind her in a moment, tugging her back against his chest, pinning her hands to her sides.

“Now, Mimi,” he says lowly. “We’ve talked about your needing. That vase was an heirloom. Absolutely priceless.”

“Oh monsieur, oui, but I am zo zorry!”

“Sorry won’t repair or replace my vase,” he says, as though the vase really were a precious piece of china and not something they’d picked up for a dollar at a thrift store last week. “I think you need to be taught a lesson. So you’ll learn to be more careful.”

“A less-on? Oh, but…”

“No excuses,” he says firmly. “From now on, until I tell you otherwise, you will only say ‘yes, monsieur’ or ‘non, monsieur.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, monsieur,” she concedes. He can feel her shudder against him, and there’s a rustle as her stockings slide against one another. He smiles, since she can’t see it, at her restlessness. She wants some friction, already. And she’ll have it, when he’s good and ready for her to have it.

He slides a foot between hers, coaxing them further apart so her legs are slightly spread. He moves her hands to brace on the coffee table, a palm on her back maneuvering her to bend forward until her ass is slightly elevated. “Keep them there,” he growls, stepping back to admire the picture she makes.

“Yes, monsieur,” she says meekly, though she does peek up at him from beneath her lashes as if she can’t help herself when he lets her sit them for almost a full minute. Still, her eyes dart back down and she doesn’t break character, not even to beg him to get a move on. 

Good girl, he thinks. She gasps in faux shock when he finally pushes her skirt up, leaving her beautiful bottom framed nicely by a little black thong. 

“Monsieur!” she gasps again as he slides the thong down to just under her rounded cheeks.

“Now, Mimi,” he says. “You broke my priceless vase. You know the rules. Is that a ‘yes, monsieur’ because you want me to teach you to be more careful, or is that a ‘no, monsieur’, you would rather find a different job where you don’t have to be careful.”

She hesitates, absolutely for ‘character effect’, before saying, once again meekly, “Yes, monsieur.”

“Good girl,” he says, stroking over the soft flesh gently. “Now, little girls who aren’t careful with other people’s things get a nice spanking. That vase was worth at least $30,000. I think we should start with a spanking for every thousand dollars.”

She nods slowly, her curls bobbing. He gives her ass a slight pinch and prompts her. “What do we say?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Good girl,” he says, then draws his hand back to give her the first sharp smack. She gasps beautifully, then again when it’s followed by a second and third. He alternates between cheeks, turning them a lovely shade of pink. When he reaches the count of twenty, he pauses, his eyes on the coffee table giving him a bit of an idea.

“I think you need a little break,” he says, plucking the duster from off the table to brush over her sensitive flesh. She makes a little moaning sound, and he smiles to himself. He draws it over her skin, down her thighs, pausing and withdrawing before resuming his teasing brushes. Then he brings his hand down to spank her again when she least expects it, the final ten strokes leaving her trembling.

“That’s thirty,” he says, rubbing soothing hands over the reddened flesh, marveling a little at just how wet she’s gotten from this foreplay alone. “But I think we need to work on the lesson a bit more, non?”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer but tugs her upright and over to the furniture. He glances over at the couch, briefly, before disregarding that and moving her to stand in front of one of their footstools.

“Uh… oui, monsieur?” Darcy looks up at him, clearly unsure of what’s up but not willing to break the rules of the role play to get out her question.

“Your hands weren’t careful,” he says. “So I think we should learn a little lesson without using them.”

He moves to stand behind her, running his hands slowly down her arms to take her hands. He folds them behind her, so she’s clasping her elbows. “They stay there. Can you do that?”

“Yes, monsieur,” she says, and even as she turns her head to look at him, blinking innocently, he can see a spark dancing in her eyes. He moves to stand in front of her, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it over to the couch, his tie soon following. He looks at her for a moment, contemplative.

“I think we should take these off,” he says, tugging the thong further down her legs.

“Yes, monsieur,” she says dutifully as he helps her step out of them.

“And I think, Mimi, that I should get to see those beautiful tits of yours, since you destroyed my beautiful vase.”

“Yes, monsieur.”

The scoop neck of the little dress makes it easy for him to drag it down pass her shoulders. The cups of her demi bra are easy enough to shove after it, and the gathered material thrusts her breasts up toward him nicely, especially with her arms crossed behind her back.

He undoes his belt and his pants to pull his cock out, watching her eyes glaze slightly as he strokes it once, twice, before lowering himself down onto the ottoman, reaching to tug her forward with the skirt before he rucks that up and tucks it to stay put.

“Now, Mimi,” he says, locking eyes with her. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to lower that pretty pussy onto my cock, keeping your hands behind your back. And on each stroke you’re going to says, ‘I’ll be more careful, monsieur’.”

Her eyes go wide even as he pulls her gently forward, her legs spreading wide to accommodate his seat. It’s going to be hard work, he knows, to ride him this way.

“Can you do that, Mimi?” he asks, watching her carefully to see if she needs an out.

“Yes, monsieur,” she says, a determined look on her face. That’s his girl.

“And Mimi?” he says.

“Yes, monsieur?”

“You don’t come until I do.”

It’s a bit cruel, he knows, when she’s this worked up and the serum gives him an advantage. But the orgasm he’s going to reward her with is going to be so very worth it, they both know. So without any hesitation, she’s nodding and beginning to lower herself down.

He’s not completely cruel, of course, so he steadies her hips and helps her take his cock into her. She’s warm and wet around him as she eases all the way down then lifts herself back up.

“I’ll be more careful, monsieur.”

Her thighs tremble as she begins to set her pace, the slick sound of flesh hitting flesh interrupted only by her mantra. He’s content to watch her breasts bounce in his eyeline for a few minutes, before he decides it’s time to take things up a notch. He reaches to pinch and tug at her nipples, eliciting a delightful gasp of pain-meets-pleasure, and her voice takes on a strained edge at her next, “I’ll be more careful, monsieur.”

Her thighs are absolutely shaking now, and her hair is damp with sweat at her forehead. He reaches between them to rub at the sensitive nub of flesh at her cleft, and she begins to flutter around him. She bites her lip hard, losing and catching her grip on her elbows again.

“I’ll be more careful, mon- god, please!” she moans, throwing her head back, and he takes pity on her, pulling her down onto him and driving up into her, a few more thrusts until he’s finding his release and she’s following shortly after, going absolutely boneless on top of him.

He holds her like that for a few minutes, until her trembling turns into a different kind of shaking. She pulls back from him, smiling and laughing breathlessly.

“Good?” he says, brushing a sweaty lock of hair off her face and helping her stand and straighten her dress more comfortably.

“So, so good,” she confirms. “Though I can barely walk.”

She stumbles even as she says that. He winks at her, and she laughs and sticks her tongue out at him before she ducks into their bathroom to clean up.

“Not like that, you meanie. My legs are jello. I’ve done spin classes that were less of a workout.”

“Worth it, though, right?” he calls, perhaps a little smugly.

“Definitely worth the cost of the vase,” she says glibly as she pokes her head and tosses a wet cloth in his direction. “And the three others we got for next time. And speaking of the vase, can you sweep it up before I step on it?”

“I dunno,” he teases even as he moves to do just that. “After all, you did break it.”

“And I showed you just how very, very sorry I was, don’t you think?”

“That you did, doll. That you did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos feed the Muse and taste like cookies, probably. I'm also on Tumblr as @thestarfishdancer if you want to drop by and say hello!


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